


for the drinks spilled on the floor

by maryjanewatson



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Childhood Friends, Friendship, Gen, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 14:26:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15051125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryjanewatson/pseuds/maryjanewatson
Summary: Tony is on the verge of relapse. Sharon tries to pull him off the ledge.





	for the drinks spilled on the floor

The glass felt cold in in his hand, the grip unfamiliar as it never had been all the years before, and it nearly slipped from his grasp. Tightening his fingers around it more firmly, Tony reached for the bottle sitting menacingly in front of him, and twisted the cap.

 

It’d been years since any alcohol was allowed in his home. Rhodey and Pepper personally made sure to rid the entire place of it, searching through every corner, hidden trinket box and hideaway for any remaining stashes. Tony had kept many of those. Not to drink again, he’d said, but what if he had company around? Besides, he’d said, he’d sooner die than “become a square.” Truth was, he cared little for that. 

 

It was his pride. He wanted—he  _ needed _ —to prove to himself that he was stronger than to reach for it, even with the temptation surrounding him in all of the rooms at his place. He wanted to know he wouldn’t drink if he was having a bad day, or a good day, or if he was feeling bored, or stressed, or if it was raining outside, or snowing, or if he’d put his left foot on the floor first after waking up or if his index fingernail had grown 1 or 1.2 millimeters since he’d last logged them. He wanted to test all of the possible variables. He was a scientist, after all, and proof through multiple experiments was what he knew best. It was all he knew, really. 

 

But two years after Titan, he felt as though all the knowledge in the world had escaped right through his fingers.  _ Just like ash _ , he thought bitterly, and the bile rose in his throat, burning its way up and then back down, though the feeling was so common now that he barely felt it.

 

He couldn’t find a way to reverse it. Turning over every second of everything he could possibly think of, be it the stones, Strange’s words, every step he’d taken from New York to Sokovia to the pits of Hell themselves brought no solution. Strange mentioned over fourteen million different scenarios where they’d all lose, and Tony was finding all of them in his mind, each more horrifying than the other. But the single one where they’d win was still lost, and his hopes seemed soon to follow. 

 

As the golden liquid molded itself around the ice cubes on his glass, Tony’s eyes stung. If it was just a reaction from the caustic smell of the beverage or something else, he couldn’t tell. 

 

He fidgeted with the glass in his hand for so long that by the time he looked at it again, the ice had completely melted, and the table was slippery with condensation.  _ Pepper will be mad _ , he thought. The wood would be water-stained. But the thought seemed so stupid that, for a moment, he felt a huff of air escaping him, the ghost of what once would’ve been a laugh. Pepper wouldn’t care about something as small as that, not when the world had fallen to pieces all around them.

 

Taking a deep breath, he brought the glass to his lips, but paused not more than a hairsbreadth away. His whole arm tingled and for the briefest of moments he wondered if he was having a heart attack, but the thought ran away like a scalded cat. It would’ve been too easy for him to die then, and had not his entire life been lived with the burden of pain that would’ve crushed most?

 

Still, the glass did not tip towards his lips.

 

“If you’re not gonna drink that, I’ll have it.”

 

Tony didn’t finch at the voice.

 

“Who says I’d share it with you even if I didn’t want it?” He replied, wit still sharp, but the twinkle in it long gone, now only a muscle-memory response.

 

Sharon sat by him, a smile torn between warm and bitter playing on her lips. She came by often to check on him, the ties they’d formed as children still tight around her heart. Her great-aunt Peggy had been close with Howard Stark, and helped build and keep S.H.I.E.L.D. afloat, and Sharon had been smitten with the idea of enlisting into that line of work, to help put a stop to all of the horrible things she saw on the news. She followed her aunt like a puppy, and Peggy was more than happy to show her the ropes. Sharon’s mother had been vehemently against it, and it soured their relationship. Soon enough, Peggy was the only family Sharon would know.

 

Tony, behind his party boy façade, had always been lonely, with no siblings to speak of and very little attention from his parents, so when Peggy introduced him to Sharon in their childhood, he latched on with gusto. He showed her his inventions, taught her advanced physics, and made several weapon and suit prototypes for when Sharon finally joined S.H.I.E.L.D.

 

On her part, Sharon was happy to have the company of someone her age to spend time with. As lovely as her aunt was, she was 60 years older than her, with different values that didn’t always match up with her own.

 

Tony and Sharon drifted apart in their early twenties, Tony too distraught at the loss of his parents, and Sharon too busy with her S.H.I.E.L.D. training, but they always kept an eye on each other from afar. When they finally met up again after the bombing in Vienna, it was like no time had passed at all. Tony even found time to tease Sharon for dating Steve. And now, since they were two of the few people left, they clung to each other still, like lifeboats. 

 

“I’m serious,” Sharon said. “I’d rather have me drink it than you, anyway. You’re not sophisticated enough to appreciate it.”

 

Neither of them had a penchant for sentimentality, so this was the closest she would ever get to asking if Tony was okay, to offer a shoulder, to tell him he didn’t have to do it alone and that she would be there to help. 

 

“You’re a real piece of work, Carter.” Tony retorted with no real sting to his voice. He slid his still full glass to her, frowning a little at how quickly she gulped it down. “How Rogers puts up with you, I’ll never know.”

 

“He shuts up and does what I tell him to.” Sharon replied.

 

“Well, that’s a first.” Tony quipped. “How’s he doing?”

 

It was Sharon’s time to fidget. Truth was, Steve was a master at shutting everyone out when he wasn’t feeling well, and she’d easier move mountains than get any sort of vulnerable and emotional response from him. 

 

“Well, there are not enough punchbags in the world for the amount of hitting he’s been doing, so if you’d like to invent one that he can’t punch right through, I’d owe you.” 

 

Sharon grimaced, and reached for the bottle before changing her mind.

 

“What are we gonna do?” She asked, slumping in her chair, her breath tight on her chest.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Both of them sat next to each other for a long time, not knowing what else to say. The air was thick with their mingling worry, but neither could bear to be alone. Eventually, when the first rays of morning light came through the window and their lids felt too heavy to bear, they parted ways. Sharon went back to her place, hoping that Steve would be asleep in their bed, but knowing despite herself that he was riding his motorcycle on this side of too dangerously, and that he’d come back with breakfast and be extra sweet to her to make up for it just like he did every morning, even though he had no intentions of stopping it. 

 

Tony got up and rinsed the glass Sharon drank from in the sink, meticulously drying it off just to put it back on the counter again. He picked up the whiskey bottle and dumped the remains down the drain, and headed for his room. 

 

No sleep would come tonight. And neither would answers.


End file.
